The Black Swan

by Day Taylor

  Visibly she rallied. "I wanted you to come here to meet me." She looked down into her coffee cup. "Will . . . will you tell me why you came?"

  He reached across the table and took her hand, irritated by the glove that kept her soft silky skin from him. "I was surprised to see your letter. I didn't expect you to be here."

  "I came to visit my cousins and Aunt Ca'line," she said too quickly, so he knew she was hiding from him again. Then she withdrew her hand from the protection of Jiis. "No. I came because I knew you'd be in New Orleans."

  "And I answered your letter because I knew you'd be here."

  "You're not angry with me? You don't think I'm—^that I'm one of those awful women who—^"

  "Don't say any more, Dulcie. Don't say it and don't think it."

  "Adam—" she allowed her hand to steal back into his— "take me somewhere. Let's walk. I just want to be near you."

  New Orleans was not Mossrose. It provided no solitary path shrouded by crape myrtle. With each public building they passed, Dulcie became more aware that Aunt Caroline would learn of—and disapprove of—the coincidence by which Dulcie became lost just as Adam came into port.

  She was nearly in tears. Everything began to seem gloomily impossible. Although she had mentally made her commitment to him, even to living a life of sin if need be, she was finding the practicahties extremely difficult. Everything from here out would have to originate with Adam. He would have to provide a place where they could live together for the few days each month he would be in New Orleans. He'd have to take her from her family. And no matter how she tried, she couldn't visualize Adam as the kind of man to keep a woman closeted away from decent society.

  She said wearily, "I've made a terrible mess of it again, haven't I?"

  He squeezed her hand. "Not a mess—but a dilemma." He hailed a taxi. Seated beside her, he kissed her cheek. "What am I to do with you now?"

  "I don't know. How does one go about these things?"

  "What things?" he asked warily.

  "Well, you know . . . women, mistresses, and—^"

  He looked down at her, not sure whether to be angry or amused. It was safer to be amused. "Well, most often women come to my hotel room."

  "Oh, no! I couldn't! I could never walk into a hotel in broad daylight. Why, everyone would think ... I mean, they'd know—"

  "Yes, they would. If it was the truth, you shouldn't mind. But you do mind, Dulcie, so you'd better let me take you home. Where does your Aunt Caroline live?"

  Dulcie's mouth tightened. "Fm not goin' to Aunt Caroline's. Not after I've finally made up my mind and come all the way to New Orleans."

  Adam frowned. "Just what do you think you're going to do?"

  "If I must parade across a hotel lobby to please you, that's exactly what I will do!"

  "You don't know what you're talking about."

  /. "Oh, yes, I do!"

  "Just like that—" he snapped his fingers—"you're going to toss away everything you've been taught"

  She glared at him, her eyes flashing defiance and resentment. "I didn't toss it away! You did it for me—at Moss-rose, right under my father's nose. Or had you forgotten?"

  Adam's eyes grew cold. He'd known girls reared like Dulcie. All such girls wanted—all Dulcie had wanted—was harmless flirtation. Now she saw herself as a tarnished woman, offering the lesser remains of herself to him, offering him the blame for her fall from purity as well as absolving herself of responsibility for her own passionate nature.

  Suddenly the dark cabin at Mossrose, with her shrinking away froni his touch, burst in his mind, a million painful fragmented pictures. "Hell, no, I haven't forgotten! I remember all too clearly that you said you never wanted me to touch you again."

  "Since you ruined me for any decent man, I'm stuck with you, aren't I?"

  The hurtful words found their target. He stared out the window, not trusting himself to speak. Watching her, his face tense and drawn, he forced himself to think of her as any other woman who wanted satisfaction, unwilling to admit it but willing to use any man to gain it. "All right, Miss Moran. I guess you're no worse than some I've known. You want your pound of flesh—you'll get it."

  He knocked on the carriage roof. The driver's face appeared above him. Adam gave instructions, then sat back, his arms crossed over his chest protectively as he willed himself to think of anything but Dulcie.

  Tom's cabin was in as bad shape now as it had been when he and Ullah first came. Swamp grass had reclaimed the yard. The tree from which Revanche had hanged Tom had split and blackened from a lightning bolt.

  Adam told the driver to wait. He lifted Dulcie from the carriage. Without speaking or looking at her, he took her hand, forcing her to keep up with his long strides.

  "Where are we? Where are you takin' me? Adam—^what are you doin'?" She tugged at him, but he made no response. "Not like this. I didn't—"

  He pushed her inside the cabin and closed the door. Slowly he began to unbutton his coat, making himself believe, childlike, that each brass button loosened meant that the words she had spoken in anger and guilt no longer hurt

  him. Each motion erased part of the insidious hold she had on his feehngs. She stared at him in frozen facination.

  "I forgot. You wanted me to tell you I love you—even if it's a lie, didn't you. Anything to please, Dulcie. It is your day. I love you."

  He tossed the coat over a dust-laden chair, then removed his shirt. "Touch me, Dulcie. If you're going to be a kept woman, you're going to have to do better than this at pleasing a man."

  She wanted to run, but she wouldn't. In spite of his coldness, his eyes blazed. He wanted her, and she knew it. She stood her ground. With the same deliberation with which he had removed his coat, she reached up, removing her hat She took her time, defying him with her eyes, teasing him with the slight movements of her body. Her hair fell to her shoulders. She ran her hands through it, making it cascade down her back in waves of molten copper. Her fingers touched the buttons of her afternoon suit, loosening them slowly one by one, exposing the slightest path of creamy white skin in the dark of the velvet. She removed her fichu and stood waiting for him.

  He managed to keep his voice level and cold. "Don't stop there, Dulcie."

  "All right, Adam." She placed her hands flat against his chest. She caressed him, while he stood rigid as a cigar-store Indian. Her hands moved slowly over his torso, down to the lean, hard fiat of his belly. Without a sound she shrugged out of her jacket. As the soft, warm skin of her breasts touched him, his fists clenched.

  "Look at me, Adam. Kiss me."

  He looked down at her, frowning. "How far do you expect to take this?"

  "I want you to love me."

  His look was sardonic. "Don't ask for something you don't really want. There'll be no interruptions this time."

  "I know," she said softly.

  He walked away from her. Briskly he went to the cupboard, dragging out a pile of quilts. He tossed them on the ruined bed, then with the same sardonic look on his face, removed his trousers and boots.

  She couldn't look away from him. She gazed at his broad shoulders, the deep muscular chest, his narrow hips, his hard pulsing penis. "Are you ready to go home now, Dulcie?" he asked, his voice thick and husky.

  She felt ridiculous and frightened standing in the ruined dusky room wearing only a skirt, while he stood before her naked and filled with desire, taunting her, cold and loveless in all his actions.

  "Adam, please—don't make it so difficult for me.**

  "It shouldn't be difficult. Now that you've given up your dreams of marriage and love, you'll find one man much the same as another. If you want to begin your career as a mistress, you won't find anyone more patient than I."

  Her hand flew to her mouth. She shook her head wildly. "I didn't mean that! I don't want to be anythin*. I just want youl I love you, Adam. Don't be angry with me, please!'* She ran to him, throwing her arms around him, burying herself against him. "I love you," she wh
ispered.

  She felt the tremor run through him, then his arms closed around her, sheltering her. Her skirt and pantalettes fell to her feet. His hands gently caressed her body as he kissed her.

  Dulcie reeled in a dizzying whirlpool of feelings she'd never known. He picked her up and placed her on the bed. He leaned over her, his face taut with passion, his eyes soft and loving. Slowly he lowered his weight down onto her, and instead of being heavy, his body seemed pliant to her, responding to her slightest movement Her back arched small animal sounds escaped her as his warm, seeking lips touched her body, caressing with a deeper intimacy and heat than his hands had done.

  She had never felt warmth like the warmth his body on hers created. He caressed her, slowly, gently parting her legs. She trembled, her eyes opening wide as he entered her, stretching her, hurting her, filling her until she was lost and everything including her own body was Adam.

  Slowly, as he moved with infinite care and gentleness, the stretching and the pain eased. Other more delicate sensations pulsed through her, growing stronger, until once more she was there, and instead of Adam, it was she and Adam.

  Where one began and the other stopped she didn't know. They were one.

  He kissed each eye, her cheeks, and her mouth. Without knowing, she moved to the demands of these new feelings, moving with him, anticipating the leaping, living flame that rose and fell within her at every stroke.

  "Adam . . . tell me, please tell me.*'

  He embraced her tightly, trembling, his face buried in her hair. His voice was low and husky. "I love you, my darling. I love you."

  Her blood surged, her heartbeat sounding in her ears.

  She lay cradled in his arms, his body relaxed and moist She snuggled closer, smiling, feeling more content and complete than she had known was possible. She said softly, "Tell me again, Adam. Tell me now."

  He opened his eyes lazily, his mouth in a natural, easy smile. He touched her, his fingers tracing the curves of her body. Then he got up on one elbow looking down at her. "I love you, little one," he murmured. "But not as my mistress. You'll be my wife."

  Her eyes teared, and laughter bubbled up inside her. She bit her lower lip to keep it all from tumbling out at once. He held her close, telling her he wanted her as he could never want any other.

  Still smiling, she got into the carriage to return to Aunt Caroline's. But as he told her of his hastily formed plans, she became alarmed. "No! You'll never come for me. I know! Don't send me to Savannah, Adam. Something will happen. We'll never be together. Please. Keep me with you."

  "Dulcie, I have business in New Orleans that can't be cast aside. I want you to return to Mossrose. I'll come there for you. It will only be a month, and we'll have the kind of wedding your parents want for you. I'll write to your father and ask for your hand, and let him know when I'll arrive. You—"

  "Adam, no! I'm afraid. Don't make me wait Now is our time. Please . . . don't let us lose it."

  "Dulcie," he said sternly, "when I say something is important, you have to trust me. When I tell you I love you, you've got to believe me. Nothing will stop us from marrying—^unless it is you."

  "It's all I want. You're all I want, Adam."

  "Then nothing will prevent our marriage. Be at Mossrose for me, darling."

  Wiping her eyes, she nodded. "I'll see you imtil I leave, won't I?"

  "Of course. As often as I'm able."

  He took her to the Tilden's newly bought plantation. Marsh House. Caroline was swooning in a chair, and Jenny was waving smelling salts under her nose.

  "Dulcie!'* Gay cried. "Captain Tremain? Dulcie, where have you been?"

  "She got lost on the Rue Royale," Adam said smoothly, looking at Dulcie as he might a naughty child. "Fortunately I found her before harm befell her."

  "We—we were in the dress shop, Aunt Caroline, and all of a sudden I didn't see you. I hunted for you. Then I got lost"

  Caroline blew her nose and dabbed at her reddened eyes. "Ah didn't know what Ah was goin* to tell youah poor mama," she whimpered. "Ah owe you mah heartfelt thanks, Captam Tremain." Her breath caught, and she sniffed again.

  Robert watched as Adam's eyes sought and met Dulcie's. "You'll join us for supper, of course, Adam?"

  "No, Robert, thank you, but I have an appointment With your permission, Mrs. Tilden, Robert, I'd like to call on Dulcie occasionally."

  Caroline Tilden, at Robert's slight nod, smiled her approval

  Robert walked out with Adam. "Our house is yours. You are always welcome. But, will you accept some advice from a friend? Marry her."

  Adam nodded. "As soon as Tm able."

  "I'm relieved. What I see between you cannot be held back for long—^not with two people of your temperaments." Robert smiled, then became serious again. "Don't say anything I might not wish to hear. As her eldest cousin, my duty to Dulcie and Uncle Jem—"

  "I understand that," said Adam heavily.

  "I am responsible for her while she is here. I—I cannot permit you to be alone with her. I'm afraid I must be your chaperone. Dulcie is too clever at leavin' maids bewildered while she does as she pleases. Such a woman!"

  During the following weeks Adam visited Marsh House as often as propriety allowed. Most of his time was spent with Robert, riding and hunting. It was no hardship; he liked Robert. But as the days passed, his longing for Dulcie grew. He couldn't look at her without reading in her eyes her love for him. Touching her hand while in a room crowded by watchful Tildens became an exercise in self-torture.

  The days away from her were even less peaceful. Juneau Nuit had been Ullah's friend and was happy to aid

  Adam in stealing Revanclie's slaves. But, as with a project that depended on secrecy and the cooperation of many, Juneau and the three men spent many hours planning how to remove the slaves undetected, organizing the transport wagons, and finding anchorage in the Mississippi where they could board the Liberty unseen.

  Juneau solved their most pressing problem. Edmund was not a generous man, nor one to give his slaves any unnecessary freedom of movement. Juneau and her voodoo doctor walked boldly onto Revanche's fields, carrying with them the most feared of all voodoo magic, gris-gris amulets and charms.

  The field hands cowered before Juneau's powerful hypnotic voice as Dr. Beauregard walked along the rows of people in the cane fields. His hair, combed out, reached to his waist, but he wore it rolled into knots that formed little pockets all over his head in which he carried his magic paraphernalia, pebbles, shells, dried lizards, bird skulls, dried frogs, and hoot-owl heads. He pranced, weaving among the people, his wizened face grinning in satanic glee as he gave them glimpses of the gris-gris. Left on a doorstep in the dark of the moon, the gris-gris could work incalculable harm. Juneau instructed them to attend the voodoo ceremony the night Adam was to sail.

  Juneau preached against the Yankee. She condemned Lincoln and his antislavery stand as evil, a strange, strange credo to be heard from Juneau Nuit's lips, but one that served its purpose that afternoon.

  , Sleath dared not touch or interfere with the powerful voodoo queen. Instead the overseer went after Edmund.

  Dressed entirely in black, Edmund, slim and distinguished looking, approached Juneau with Sleath as she harangued to his slaves. She turned to greet him, her eyes wild and frenzied with the power of the spell she had cast on his people. "Ah gwine save dese peoples fo' you. We gwine celebrate Saint John's Eve dis summah—three times!" She thrust her fingers in front of Revanche, then she turned so that those in the fields could see the number. "Ain't no Yankee gwine live when yo' peoples sees him. De angels dey gwine p'tect us. Dey gwine join dey ban's wiff ouahs, an' save de South. Dey gwine keep us true to ouah homes!"

  Edmund listened, intrigued. He had always believed Juneau to be a dangerous nuisance, encouraging his slaves to

  run. Today she was saying exactly what he would have wished her to say had he ever dared dictate to her. "Amen!" rang out after each of Juneau's statements. Black faces shone
with belief and the will to be led by this woman. That was to Edmund's advantage, and he agreed to allow her to hold Saint John's Eve service in the distant bayou where his plantation abutted Marsh House property.

  Juneau raised her heavily braceleted arms in blessing and demanded the slaves' presence. Doctor Beauregard chanted and gyrated as he displayed the gris-gris that would end up on the doorstep of any man, woman, or child who did not obey the command of the voodoo queen.

  Adam's single remaining worry was the slave grapevine. They couldn't prevent the slaves from speculating about Juneau's Saint John's Eve ceremony, the second one she'd have held that summer. Should they discuss the rarity of what Juneau was doing or in any way arouse suspicion, Revanche would end the plan before it got started.

  The Sunday of the voodoo ceremony was the same day Adam had promised to take Dulcie to Circus Square with Robert and Gay. Ben was going too, escorting fourteen-year-old Jenny. They made a cheerful, fun-seeking group.

  When they arrived at Circus Square, the slaves had already congregated. Black men strutted before their white spectators in castoff finery. The women in dotted calico skirts with bright-colored madras tignons competed with the brilliant colors of summer flowers. Children milled among the adults, their garments decorated with bright feathers and bits of colored string and ribbons.

  Dulcie's hand stole into Adam's, her heartbeat quickening to the drumming of the bamboula. Her eyes fixed on the black man who wielded the bones, maintaining a steady, primitive rhythm. A slender black stepped into the center of the Square. Around his ankles were tied tinkling bits of tin and brass. His woman faced him, then other couples joined. The men moved back and forth, toward and away from one another, leaping into the air, then stamping their feet. Strongly accented Negro voices rang out, "Dansez Bamboula! Badoum! Badoum!"

  The black women barely moved. Their eyes half-closed, their bodies swayed sensuously as they chanted an ancient song, monotonous, deeply moving.